


If Only

by UkiTheMaid



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Showers, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UkiTheMaid/pseuds/UkiTheMaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick “what if” thing I wrote on a whim. What if MITB went down a different way. What if Roman lost, but Dean was victorious? And what if Dean just can’t concentrate on his win with Roman feeling so crestfallen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this randomly while actually writing something of real quality.
> 
> I already apologize for the end of this fic.
> 
> You will hate me and I'll give you all the reason in the world for this.

Dean enters the room, an arm draped over Roman’s shoulders, belt hanging heavy around his waist as he limps a little with each step he takes. He whispers something on Reigns’ ear, hears a small chuckle, and smiles. He doesn't even bother turning on the lights, head still spinning from everything which happened that night.

Something is amiss though. He looks down at Roman’s hands. No golden briefcase, no contract, nothing. And Dean feels a sting on his chest. A sting he knows feels far stronger inside Roman’s heart.

Roman’s small smile falters again and Dean sees it. It pains him and he just wants to kiss all the bad feelings away from Roman. He knows he can’t though. And thinks it’s quite unfair he walked out the ring a winner while Roman was robbed from his opportunity.

“We’ll get him.” Dean murmurs, knowing well what’s going through Roman’s mind. He knows he’s focused on Bray Wyatt and Dean can’t blame him.

There’s a nod from Roman, but he’s still serious, distant. That bothers Dean but he tries not to insist on the subject. And it’s harder to do that when Roman leaves him on the bed to go take a shower. He wants to stay alone for a while. There’s just so much in his head, a confusing mess of being happy about Dean and being distressed about his own situation.

Dean sits there, thinking over and over about how he wants to enact his revenge on Wyatt, his anger almost overshadowing the sheer bliss he is feeling by finally having the Heavyweight Champion title the proper way. How he finally won it fair and square. He’s sore all over from being beaten up with that ladder, but every single bruise on his body was so very worthy, just to rub that stupid belt on Seth’s face.

He hears water running from inside the bathroom, and his thoughts shift to Roman again. He’s feeling a weird mix of elation and frustration like he never felt before. It’s almost as if he was the one who lost. It’s strange, how important this is to him. When was the last time he cared so much about anyone winning anything? Or being upset about someone losing?

Growing impatient after a couple minutes, Dean gets up from the bed right after kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on the bed, leaving the belt with it. He walks up to the bathroom, pushing the door open and entering quietly, steam making everything misty all around. He softly touches the shower curtain, pulling on it.

Dean stares at Roman’s bare back, his fingers buried on his hair and water running down his body. For a good while, he just stands there, watching every subtle movement from Roman, how the muscles on his back move when his arms are up, how he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, how his sunkissed skin contrasts with the white tiles of the bathroom. He’s just so absolutely stunning and Dean licks his lips, and before he knows it his hands are opening his pants, and he discards them along with his socks.

He enters the shower, tank top and underwear still on, and just hugs Roman from behind. He feels him tense up but immediately relax. Dean can smell the soft scent of hair conditioner.

The water is warm, soaking his clothes wet, and Roman moves to face him, eyes sad and a little red as his hands move to rest on his waist.

“Are you crying?” Dean asks, even though he knows the answer. He haven’t seen Roman cry in forever. The last time he saw that, it was right after…

“I’m happy for you.” Roman says, and Dean stares at his face for a moment. He’s trying so hard to smile and it just… it crushes Dean’s very soul.

“You deserved that fucking briefcase. Way more than that rotten red head who thinks he’s hot stuff. I wish I could just… I just want to slap that away from his fat hands and…” Dean shakes his head and moves to place a kiss on Roman’s lips. He moves away, both hands moving to Reigns’ face.

“You don’t need to do anything for me.” Roman keeps doing his best to maintain a smile. He feels so helplessly guilty for ruining Dean’s moment. For not being able to feel completely happy for him.

“Yes! Yes I do. I just… I don’t like this. Seeing you like this. I’m fucking tired of seeing you having sand kicked in your eyes like that. I’ll do something. I dunno what, but I will.” Dean leans in for another kiss. “And stop forcing yourself to smile just because of me you goddamn idiot.” He says against Roman’s lips. He’ll have plenty of time to celebrate his win later on. Right now, he has other things in his mind.

Roman wraps his arms around Dean and pulls him closer, face burying on his neck. And Dean hears a soft sob, and a small heave. And Roman is holding him so tight. He holds him back with the same intensity, hoping to ground Reigns a little, stabilize him. And the thought of him, of all people, being the one in charge of getting someone mentally stable, makes him grin the stupidest of grins. This thought only lasts a few seconds though, before he shifts on Roman's hold, cheek rubbing against the curve of his neck.

Roman takes a few deep breaths, the warm water hitting his back in an almost comforting manner, and Dean's touch slowly melting away his disappointment. He can still feel it there, but it dims more and more as the time passes, and he feels his shoulders drop, feels the tension leave his body. Then he feels hot breathing against his ear, and short nails slowly scratching his back.

“Fuck me...” Dean's voice is dripping with yearning, and Roman is almost surprised at the shift in his behavior. Almost.

“What?” Roman's voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“Just fuck me. Pour all your frustration and anger on me. Just... I just want to help you.” Dean's runs his nails a little deeper, or as deep as they can go, and he hears a sharp intake of air. He knows Roman well to know it's not crying this time around.

“H-Here?” Roman breathes out, distress dissolving away.

“No...” Dean shakes his head softly as he cuts off the water. He moves around, still on Roman's arms, and grabs a towel from nearby, covering Roman's head with it right after, using both hands to dry his soaking wet hair.

Roman just stares at Dean for a moment before his expression softens, his own hands working on taking off Dean's dripping top. The wet top is left on the floor of the bathroom without a second thought, the towel now hanging over Roman's shoulders.

“Come to bed with me... alright?” Dean says as Roman's hands hover around the waist of his underwear. He helps him out with getting them off and they get the same careless treatment his top got.

Dean takes his time drying up Roman's body in between kisses, in such a way it almost seems like he was worshiping every single part of Roman's being, and in a way, he is. He wants him to feel loved, wanted, important.

Roman insists on drying Dean back, even when he tells he doesn't need to.

They step out the shower, then cross the bathroom door, Dean pulling Roman with him, their lips brushing together, until the back of Dean's knees reach the bed. He drops down on the mattress, hands on Roman's broad neck as he pulls him down to him, sliding up the bed with Roman following suit.

They kiss over and over, Roman's actions almost too eager. He just wants to forget everything for a while. And pressing his body against Dean's does the trick far too well, their fingers interlacing as he presses Dean's hands against the mattress, anger turning into craving. Frustration turning into arousal.

Dean moves under Roman, getting one of his hands free as he feels around the bed for the belt, grasping it when Roman's teeth sink on his neck. He pulls the title closer, then gets his other hand free, pushing Roman away a bit with it.

There's absolute confusion on Roman's face, as he watches Dean fumble with the belt, then gently place it around his waist, having a bit of a hard time buckling it up.

“There...” Dean says on a breathy voice, looking at Roman's figure towering over him, title around his thick waist, droplets from his hair falling on his chest. “If they aren't going to give you this stupid fucking title, I'll give it to you.” He places both hands on Roman's chest. “You... you are  **my**  champion...”

Roman blinks a few times, the weight of the belt around his waist feeling almost surreal. It's something he haven't felt in a long time. And Dean's words just make him instantly dip down to kiss him again, grab his wrists to pin him down and his body to grind against Dean's, the metal on the belt scratching Ambrose's stomach and leaving soft red marks.

For how long those marks are to remain soft though, it's uncertain.

The only thing which is certain is that Roman can't remember when was the last time he wanted Dean this bad.

He has a feeling all his negative thoughts will be gone by the end of the night.


End file.
